Hajime's Predicament
by The-Guest-Waker
Summary: He should have known. Hajime Hinata was, in no way, shape or form, an idiot. Naïve, perhaps, but never an idiot. So why was it, that he felt like a complete and utter idiotic moron? He should have known that people, people like Komaeda, never change.
1. Idiot

He should have known.

Hajime Hinata was, in no way, shape or form, an idiot. Naïve, perhaps, but never an idiot.

So why was it, that he felt like a complete and utter idiotic moron?

He should have known that people, people like Komaeda, never change. Hajime had grown attached, more than he liked to admit, to the owner of that damned bird nest he called hair. The boy with eyes of an emerald which light had been stolen and never returned.

He had thought, a mere intrusive thought of a dream that felt so distant to him now; Hajime had thought that he could have been its replacement. He had jolted awake after that, coffee forgotten, ears ringing screaming at him to stop the crazed pounding of his heart.

For a while, during those times of peace where his other _classmat_ \- no, not that, his acquaintances, yes _just acquaintances_ , trapped as he was in a virtual program ever so cruel, he had dared to think that perhaps that mess he called a person was worth the headaches Hajime had grown accustomed to for trying to wrap his head around that of Nagi- Komaeda.

Goddamn Komaeda and his unnatural remarks (' _From the bottom of my heart…I am truly in love with the hope that sleeps inside you')._

(Whom was he kidding? He knew he deserved this, after all _they-_ he destroyed what once was his home. How could he ever atone for his sins? He deserved this, he deserved all of this, _hedeservedit hedeservedithedeservedit I deserve this_ ).

The mere instant Hajime saw light ( _his_ light, _his_ own power) within him, Hajime had already been a candidate for the title of idiot. He felt the warmth of a ray of light being emanated from his own body as if he had become an ethereal being.

And for a while, it was really working; restoring a broken shell where all the light escaped from its cracks.

And how could he be blamed for even trying to salvage what was broken beyond repair? Human nature dictated this morbid fascination with the abnormal. He wasn't to take all the blame; after all, the other had tempted him. The rosy tint on his cheeks, so harshly contrasting with the paleness of his skin and the ghostly thin body underneath him (the immediate heat that image provoked in him, the disgust he felt afterwards) lured him in. Cold fingers running through his hair, hot breaths that spoke of a life all too willing to be halted. His voice cooed him to come closer, and to give in.

 _Just give in._

And he did. Hajime did. His light, its protective and kind warmth had too soon been swallowed by a feral and violent force. Nagito. _His_ Nagito trembled in anticipation of the drastic change, unable to restrain his desire to be burned by it. To be destroyed by a light (a lust) too strong for him to be healed by.

That had been Hajime's mistake. But the body that had by the morning left his side, a faint smell of sunflowers and the stench of death that always seemed to cling onto Komaeda had left some warmth in the wake of the empty space (only proof of what had transpired mere hours before).

It was all very ironic to Hajime. The boy who had the lingering smell of a tragedy that had yet to come, _too soon_ he thought, _too soon_ , had also been the vessel of the warmest embrace he ever felt.

But all that shattered in mere seconds: the bomb, the message, the fatal mistake of sweet, kind, understanding Nanami.

Maybe the broken shell was Hajime. He certainly felt…empty when he saw those emerald eyes, washed away by a sea of insanity and despair. And his wounds- _god his wounds._ How, how could anyone do that to their own self? The stabs on his legs, _those same legs that pushed Hajime deeper in his insatiable insanity._ And the spear that pierced his chest, _he had made a mental note of forcing Nagito to eat more and fill out his harsh edges._ The knife impaled in his hand, _a hand that had clawed at Hajime's back in an attempt to edge Hajime for more._

All he could smell was a smoke that clinged to his lungs in a desperate struggle to avoid being dissipated in the room that felt much too small.

Hajime choked down his tears, Komaeda was _not_ deserving of -his- pity, in any shape or form.

And yet he felt his whole body tremble. Waves of emotions that came violently crashing down at him, threatening to drown him in a sea of despair –I can't let her win-

* * *

It was only after he, together with the other survivors, woke up that he had truly understood just how different the world was.

The smells, the colours, _his hair, his eyes, whyaretheyredwhyaretheyredwhyarethe- oh..._

In the beginning, everything was hard. The real world had overloaded his senses in a way that left him stunned and numb to all of it for weeks.

Souda, Owari, Kuzuryuu and Sonia had all been making great efforts at rehabilitation. They all had a fire in their eyes that burned with a hope that almost outshined his own during their final trial.

But Hajime found himself unable to be just the same.

The sins he bore within himself were greater than what a single person could take, they chipped at his soul day after day. He grew colder and distant as the hands of the clock ticked by. He felt, emptier, lighter, _bored._

It wasn't until Hajime, absentmindedly as the idiot he now was, stumbled upon the pod room. A faint smell of wet earth guiding him towards it.  
He told himself he wasn't avoiding it (like the plague). He merely thought it was useless to reminisce over the past ( _ithurtithurtithurt_ ).  
He slowly made his way over all of them, the smell becoming increasingly stronger. At its peak, he found himself in front of a pod that read the name of his biggest sin.  
He laughed, a quiet, dry laugh that weighed like cement on the ears and on the heart. Of course. He should have known.

He let himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of the whirling machines around him, and the gentle smell of a forest after a rainfall.

* * *

Something nagged and pulled and screamed at the corner of his mind, but Izuru ignored it.

That feeling had begun after one of the bodies in the pod started waking up. The noise inside his brain became stronger as one after the other, new people started waking up.

All but one pod.

The others had come to him, given him reassuring pats on the back and hugs that smelled of hospital.

Izuru thought nothing of their gestures but nonetheless he faked smiles and thanked all those that had come to him.

Hajime Hinata was gone, and there was no reason for them to know.

After all, they would all be sent home soon (if so they wished).

Day after day he started feeling irritation at his body. He often found himself waking up in the middle of the night. His body (sleepwalking, his knowledge connecting the dots) led him to that same pod, night after night.

It wasn't until an alarm had alerted everyone in the island that the final pod had opened up, that Izuru became acutely aware of his predicament.

All of a sudden Haj- Izuru had found himself surrounded by smiling faces that pulled him, cheered him on and stained him in a concoction of snot and tears.

The noise by now had become a distinguished voice that yelled at him to give him back his body.

The nurse – _she has a name you know? Tsumiki! You better remember it_ \- was the first one to notice the ever so subtle tremors in hi-their body.

They no nonono he, he! Started pulling at their hair, screaming to let go and trashing the canteen.

Tsu-the nur-Tsumik-se had asked Tanaka – _who?_ \- and Souda – _that pink haired mechanic_ \- to hold him-them-no, _him_ \- down as she sedated him.

* * *

When he next woke up, Hajime found himself in the hospital where Komaeda, Ibuki and Owari had caught the Despair Disease. He let out a strained chuckle at how it had all ended in the death of three dear friends, despite all his efforts.

The open window at the far end of the room invited the sounds of waves crashing along the coast and a salty breeze that left a feeling of stickiness on Hajime's face. He closed his eyes, enjoying his bath in the sun, surrounded by the smell of the sea.

"You sure are enjoying yourself a lot, despite being a Reserve Course Student."

The spell of the alluring sun and calm sea was broken when a voice, hoarser than he remembered him, taunted him for what he wished he still was.

When Hajime had individuated the source of the sneering comment, he gave Nagito, _his_ Nagito, a sad smile one that made him look older than his years (he certainly felt he had aged at an unnatural speed).

With his ivy fluid bag in his hand, ever so slowly (as the old, senile man he mentally was), Hajime made his way towards a Nagito, _his_ Nagito ( _hishishishishis_ ) that was growin restless as the boy came closer to him.

"Your eyes-!"

The guilty that was threatening to spill over and drown and bury and destroy Hajime's frail mind flooded his senses.

He found two big greyed, emerald eyes staring at him in confusion and panic as Hajime, softly, as if he were afraid the husk standing next to him would break under any pressure, pressed the ghost of a kiss on a trail of a salty liquid that left Nagito's eyes red and puffy.

Hajime didn't wait, couldn't wait, didn't want to wait for Nagito's reaction; instead, he pushed his body weight on the pale body (how was it possible for someone to be so skinny and so warm?), pinning down the other's arms with his own.

"Hina-"

But Nagito was cut off once again by that very same pair of lips that, surprisingly to him, shyly asked permission for entrance to his cold lips.

Hajime was, for a lack of better words, pleasantly surprised by the familiar warmth that welcomed him. He felt his light being eaten by that nostalgic violent fire that was reignited inside him the moment his ears were graced by the words dripping in an irresistible venomous cadence.

When Hajime pulled away from Nagito's mouth (he was pleased to see the rosy colour coming back on those chapped lips), the trance the boy was under broke. He trashed under Hajime's weight trying to free himself from his grasp. Nagito slapped, pushed and punched at everything that screamed Hajime (mainly his face).

The sound of Hajime's body hitting the floor, alerted the people in the hospital (Tsumiki, Sonia) who immediately rushed to their aid. They certainly did not expect to see a Komaeda trembling (from fury, Hajime knew, he should have expected it) and crying with accusatory eyes towards a Hinata on the ground, with swollen cheeks and a bloody nose.


	2. Idiots

What had transcended in the hospital quickly spread throughout the rest of the survivor's group.

Hajime, unashamed and quite happily actually, had filled them in with the details they were missing, not surprised by the reactions of the rest of his companions.

Hajime did not care, for Nagito, _his_ Nagito was keeping away from him, and that, that hurt Hajime more than his suicide did.

Hajime felt a cold rage that steadily grew hotter with the passing of time. He felt his blood boil whenever Nagi-Komaeda blatantly turned away from him every single time their paths crossed or their eyes dared to meet.

Was it not Komaeda the one who initiated things? Hajime's morbid curiosity led him to give in to him (' _Just give in, Hajime_ '), but Komaeda lured him towards him as mermaids lure sailors to their deaths.

So that was it. Komaeda wanted Hajime dead. As it turns out, the lingering stench of death Komaeda's body emanated, was probably Hajime's rather than that of his object of affections.

Hajime found himself laughing again (good thing his luck, because he also possessed that now too, always seemed to prevent him from making a fool of himself).

If he forgot all. If he could deleted the files of Na-Komaeda from his head, he would be free from the heaviness he felt in his limbs, and the fire that had seemed to replace his blood. It would mean freedom from the constant dull ache his heart felt whenever he saw glimpses of green and white; he would be free from the constant need to pull his hair out from frustration; he would be free from chewing his nails into a nothingness of blood and anxiety.

Wouldn't that be nice.

Yet somehow, whenever his brain calculated, created, developed plans for him to do so, he would hear them. Hundreds if not thousands of voices yelling bloody murder in his ears, leaving him paralyzed in his bed all day long. His sins would not let him take the easy way out. It had all boiled down to tears of frustration ('How did it get _this_ bad?').

Hajime forgot what it was like to wake up with eyes that didn't look raw from the constant wiping off tears, and a nose that did not resemble that of a certain Christmas'reindeer. His friends (he grew closer to everyone in order to feel less empty inside – _how pitiful_ _of him_ -) grew worried as he grew more numb.

* * *

In a group effort, Komaeda was coerced, 'coaxed' they said, to speaking to him, to Hajime.

"Looking so trashed isn't becoming of a student form Hope's Peak Academy, even if it is just a Reserve student."

Hajime could feel shivers running down his spine. Those sweet, sweet, poisonous words were like a drug to him. So soothing and warm. Perhaps he had really lost his mind.

"Komaeda. I (really want to call you by your name) hope you do realize Hope Academy is no more."

"And who do I have to thank for that?"

"Shall I remind you that Enoshima got into your head as well? Or would you rather tell me what story you came up with to explain your missing hand?"

Hajime felt elated. He felt a part of himself die for doing this to Komaeda, but seeing the other show emotions other than indifference was a step in his favour. His eyes expertly scanned Komaeda's facial expressions and body movements (another of his 'talents'), concluding that yes, Komaeda was very close to hitting him again.

When he opened his mouth to apologize, Komaeda immediately shut him up with a blunt and effective 'Not another word, Hinata.'

The final tone with which those few words were spoken left a sense of fatality and dread in Hajime ( _why do I get the feeling I_ _'_ _ll never see him again?_ ). He tasted bile in his mouth and a prickly sensation behind his eyes he knew all too well.

As Komaeda started turning around and walking away Hajime ( _waitwaitwaitwait_ ), without thinking blurted out words meant to be lovingly nurtured together, not one-sidedly as he did.

Hajime heard the whisper of a 'why,' followed by a hand much too hard and cold to be made of flesh grabbing the collar of his shirt.

He lost balance and fell on the bed of his cabin. With their roles now reversed, Hajime felt powerless against Nagito, although the latter weighed dangerously less than himself. Unable to stop them, Hajime let tears freely flow down his face. Nagito, upon seeing this poor excuse of a person, left his collar free and Hajime let himself slide down on the side of the bed.

"You must think I'm a mess uh? I myself don't even know how I got here. With all the talents that were forced inside my head, I can't even analyse myself. I'm _patheti_ _c._ _"_

He heard Nagito sigh and the rustle of bed sheets. Soon a warm body was sitting next to him. Head resting on the top of the bed, tilted towards Hajime.

"Pathetic doesn't even begin to describe you, my dear Hinata." Nagito chuckled.

"I…I guess I owe you an apology"

Hajime wanted to say that no, he didn't, but a bony finger was placed on his mouth, in an attempted to shut him up.

"Where do I even begin?" he scratched his head "You see, when I called you to my room _that_ night, I uh, I had already planned my suicide"

Silence

"I knew you would eventually get over my death, you are amazing like that Hinata. I wasn't worried about you falling into despair" He pauses, gazing into nothing "That's why I wasn't worried about _this_ part. This whole feelings…mess."

"But then you all woke up" Hajime said, Nagito looked downwards and nodded.

"But then we all woke up."

Hajime and Nagito sat in a comfortable silence. Each thinking over what had just been said and what had happened in the past. Hajime understood. Nagito didn't know how to deal with all of this. Having someone who truly appreciated him, and him having someone correspond him and his feelings. Nagito was processing all of this. This emotional overload led him to shutting off and putting on the wall he built (as he had done after the first trial).

"Nagito" at this Nagito perked up, emerald eyes becoming clearing and lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off of him.

"I (love you) want you, us, to take this slowly" Hajime said, squeezing Nagito's bony, but warm and loving and _perfect_ hand.

The other slowly nodded, if still unsure about it all. After a few moments he squeezed back, muttering an apology for his behaviour these last few months. Hajime smiled, a real smile that conveyed the joy he felt, all the traces of anger, anxiety and frustration melting away as a blanket of warmth and love wrapped around his soul.

It was not going to be easy. Nagito's self-deprecation and self-hate were at an all time high levels, but with Hajime's pure, unfiltered adoration for the other boy, he hoped one day he could see his self-worth as well.

Hajime carefully cupped Nagito's face, and left a light kiss on those chapped lips of his.

After a moment, Nagito smiled, mouthed a 'thank you' and connected his forehead with Hajime's.

It was going to be a long road for the both of them, with Hajime having to deal with his stress disorder and Nagito with his self-worth.

But together, they would make it.

They would create a future filled with hope.

For them, for the future.


End file.
